


in service to the king

by notavodkashot



Series: crunchverse AU [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Child Abuse, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, implied csa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 18:25:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17006826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notavodkashot/pseuds/notavodkashot
Summary: A snapshot of Cor's time under Mors.





	in service to the king

It’s not a battle. Battles last more than three seconds, in Cor’s experience. It’s an assault, more like, a desperate attempt that ends up with the idiot carrying it out without a head and Cor, who just took that head, with a sword clean through his gut and a strange detachment from the whole thing.

“Must you always make a mess,” the King murmurs, and Cor sways where he stands, sword still very much skewering him through, before he turns his head enough to gauge how pissed the King is about the mess and how much Cor will be made pay for it.

Mors is sprawled on his bed, long as he is, pallid skin stark against the dark green sheets and very much naked beneath them. Cor knows. He was lying by his side sixteen seconds ago, before all the blood and the cooling carcass at his feet. It’s getting more frequent, this kind of thing. No one likes the King and Cor figures there’s plenty of reasons for it, not the least the ones he has to viscerally loathe the man whose hands fit the set of purpling bruises along his hips. But it’s so stupid, this kind of thing. This will not kill the King. He is King for a reason and that reason is that he’s monstrous and shrewd, and he knows better after all.

Cor sways again, toes wiggling against the slick blood slowly pooling on the floor and already going sticky and dry, and he looks down to see the trail steadily dripping down his thighs. There’s echo in his ears, like the roar of the ocean in a storm, only quiet and oppressive, and then the King is there, a hand coming to grasp his throat, keeping his head tilted up and Mors’ face pressed against the back of his head, feeling his breath fan against his neck and sending shivers down his spine.

“Not yet,” Mors whispers, his other hand coming around him, grasping the blade stuck through him and then janking it out in one swift pull, and Cor doesn’t scream, doesn’t shatter inside out, he just bares his clenched teeth, the same way he does whenever the King holds him down. “I’m not done with you just yet.”

There’s a very pointed difference, between being healed directly by the King’s magic, and having a potion broken over his head. Namely, the latter doesn’t make him want to writhe and scream because it feels like his bones are being torn out his  _soul_.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Cor mutters, looking at the floor and the blood and the fingers still digging possessively into his belly, well on their way to leave bruises there too.

“Gratitude should be shown, not told, boy,” Mors says, pulling away, sliding back to lay on his side of the bed, which Cor is grateful for, because it means he can’t see Cor fight back bile crawling up the back of his throat. “You know this.”

Cor swallows hard and goes, because he does.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

It is, after all, all he’s good for.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out on [DW](https://notavodkashot.dreamwidth.org/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/notavodkashot), if you'd like.


End file.
